Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
It’s not about her.
That’s the first lie. A sharp-edged thing I carve into myself as I down another mouthful of whiskey and let it scorch my throat raw.
The burn isn’t satisfying. It’s not even distracting.
It’s acid compared to the taste she left on my tongue—blood-warm and honey-slick, like silk dipped in sin.
I’d tell myself it didn’t linger. That I didn’t wake up tangled in sheets that still smelled like her. But that would be a second lie.
It’s not about Lillien.
Not about the way her dress clung to her like it had been sewn by wicked hands just to tempt me. Not the way her eyes lit with bloodlust while she fed, her lips stretched around some lowlife’s cock like she was starving and he was the last warm thing left in the world.
This is about something else.
About control. About hunger sharpened into weaponry. About reclaiming whatever part of myself slipped through my fingers the second she moaned for someone else.
This is about reminding myself who the fuck I am.
I lean against the bar, letting the smoke and neon swallow me whole.
The club is loud—bass throbbing like a pulse under cracked floors, bodies grinding in drunken choreography.
It smells like cheap sex and cheaper spirits.
Desperation dressed up in perfume and glitter, pretending to be something worth worshipping.
They’re all playing a part. Pretending at pleasure. Pretending they’ve ever bled for it. That they’ve ever burned for it.
But I can work with that.
It doesn’t take long to find two.
A brunette, lips over-painted and eyes glazed with drink. Her smile is all teeth and false bravado. The blonde beside her is all glitter and giggles, her dress riding high on her thighs, already dreaming of the story she’ll tell if she survives the night.
They’re beautiful. In a forgettable kind of way.
Perfect.
I don’t ask. I don’t flirt. I don’t even speak. I just look. And they come. Like they’ve been waiting to be ruined.
Ten minutes later, they’re in my house. My shadows. My silence.
Bastion’s sprawled on the couch when I walk in, shirtless, knuckles bruised, a half-dried smear of blood on his jaw. He lifts his eyes lazily as I step inside, the girls trailing behind me like prey already half-claimed.
He grins, sharp and slow. “Bringing home a whole buffet tonight, are we?”
There’s a crack just under my sternum. That tight, raw pull behind my ribs.
“She went out and fucked someone,” I mutter, teeth grinding. “So I can too.”
It’s too raw. Too fast. Too true.
Bastion raises a brow, and I see the amusement flicker in his eyes before his grin sharpens into something colder. “Didn’t realize this was a competition,” he says lightly.
“It’s not.”
Another lie. Another goddamn splinter under my skin.
“Sure it’s not, brother,” he says, voice low and smug.
I shove past him.
The girls are still giggling. Still whispering as if this is the beginning of some fairytale where the monster becomes prince by morning. They don’t know I’m not a beast with a heart buried under layers of pain.
They don’t know the story ends with ash.
I drag them upstairs, careless with my movements. They stumble over each other, laughing as they strip, dropping their dresses like offerings at my feet. One kneels. The other kisses up my spine. Their mouths are eager. Their touches practiced.
It’s nothing. It’s noise.
They smell like fruit-flavored lip gloss and borrowed perfume, and all I can think about is the scent of Lillien’s skin after she’s fed—salt and sex and power. Something primal. Something earned.
The brunette straddles me first. She moans as she sinks down, back arching as if it means something. Her friend kisses at my throat, dragging her nails across my chest like she wants to leave a mark deep enough to matter.
I close my eyes—and all I see is her.
Not because I miss her. Not because I need her. But because I want her to hurt. I want her to know. I want to rip her open the way she’s ripping me, from the inside out.
I fuck them like they’re nothing. Like they’re tools. Like they’re vessels I can fill with someone else’s name until I’m empty again.
The blonde pants into my ear. The brunette rides harder, moaning with every bounce. “You like that?” one of them asks, breathy and fake. “You want more?”
I want to laugh. Truly laugh.
I’m not a man. I’m the nightmare that sleeps in men’s shadows. The thing that watches from the dark when they think they’re alone. I’ve watched kingdoms burn and gods beg. And here they are, trying to make me come as if I am as easy as a mere mortal man.
I let them try.
I move with them. Let the rhythm take me, hips snapping, hands digging into flesh I’ll forget the second I blink.
And then—I feel her. The bond tightens. A rope around my ribs, yanking hard. My breath stutters. My cock pulses—not for the girl above me, but for her.
Lillien. She’s home.
Downstairs. Moving through the house like the coming of a storm. Her steps are thunder. Her scent is lightning. Her fury crackles through the air, sharp enough to draw blood.
I don’t stop. I just smile. Slow. Cruel. Welcoming.
The door to my room is cracked. I left it that way on purpose. The lights are low, the air thick with moans and the scent of sweat and arousal.
Let her see. Let her burn. Let her shatter.
The blonde is still kissing me. The brunette still grinding. But I’m not here anymore. Not really. I’m standing at the edge of a battlefield, grinning through bloodied teeth, waiting for the first arrow to fly.
The girl on top shudders. Her moan breaks. She might be coming. Or faking it. I couldn’t care less.
Because this? This isn’t about her. It’s about what happens the moment Lillien opens that fucking door.
And sees exactly how far I’m willing to go to make her come undone.
Let the war begin.